


west

by aquamarine_nebula



Series: intermissions [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, set just after ep 8, written just after ep 8 so not entirely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquamarine_nebula/pseuds/aquamarine_nebula
Summary: ‘I’m with you in spirit.’‘I know. Make sure you watch me.’‘Always.’There was a pause, as the dots that betrayed his typing appeared and disappeared.Finally: ‘It’s all for you anyway.’





	

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from west by sleeping at last

Viktor didn’t expect to miss Yuuri quite as much as he did.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him. From the beginning he’d felt like something was pulling him to stay at Yuuri’s side, from the hot springs on ice contest he’d felt like his heart was beating in tandem with Yuuri’s, from that breath-taking moment he’d thrown caution to the wind and attempted that quadruple flip he knew their souls would never truly separate. They weren’t, even if their bodies were separate, but he still yearned to be by his side.

Makkachin was recovering, thankfully, although the vets had warned him that he may not live much longer. Viktor had been waiting for it, in all honesty. He’d owned the dog since he was twelve, and dreaded the moment that he would no longer be there. He still felt guilty for leaving Yuuri to perform his free skate alone, even though Yuuri had insisted. There had been a strange emotion behind his eyes, and Viktor wondered if it had something to do with the small shrine to a poodle that looked remarkably like Makkachin in one of the family rooms.

Yuuri said nothing, however, and Viktor didn’t push. He’d become good at letting Yuuri come to him of his own accord.

The ache, the unbearable ache that radiated to the tips of his fingers only intensified when he wasn’t with Makkachin. It felt strange not to have someone beside him as he tried to sleep, either Makkachin’s warm, furry body cuddling up to him or Yuuri a comforting weight on the other side of the bed, keeping a respectable distance between them before Viktor pulled him in. Although out of the worst, Makkachin was still under constant supervision at the vet’s until Viktor could finally pick him up Saturday. The day before Yuuri came back.

It was 9am in Moscow. Yuuri would be on the rink, a graceful beauty that stole the very light and warmth from the room. If Viktor was there he would try to look past all that, shut off any emotions so that he could improve Yuuri’s technical performance. He always found himself longing for the day he would no longer be Yuuri’s coach and fully enjoy the dance, let every wildfire emotion he felt for him overflow until…

Until what? Maybe he’d be so overcome he’d lose any sense that wasn’t trained on Yuuri, maybe tears would well up and fall, maybe he’d hold himself together enough to join Yuuri on the ice and lead them to their own dance.

Yuuri’s expression just before he left caught his mind’s eye. It had broken and mended his heart again and again every time he thought of it. Fierce, although the hand that had taken Viktor’s was gentle. He’d looked like he wanted to say everything and nothing, and had been frozen until Viktor had kissed him.

Their second kiss, but the stark difference in emotion was enough to make it brand new. “I know,” Viktor had whispered when the kiss had finally ended, when his forehead had been against Yuuri’s and the world outside was pressing to be let in. He’d left before Yuuri could say anything, mostly to save face. Yuuri hadn’t seen him truly broken, and a part of Viktor wanted to keep it that way. As much as they were tied together, he wasn’t quite ready to show weakness other than what had accidentally been shown.

But right now, he was alone, and missed Yuuri with the fire of the sun. Although he knew Yuuri still had something against Viktor going in his room, he still swiftly pulled on clothes (just in case Yuuri’s family walked past), unplugged his phone from its charging port, and slipped out.

The light from the phone blinded him for a while, and he squinted at the screen until he found his messages to Yuuri–slowly getting sappier as the months went by–and switched the keyboard to English.

_‘I miss you.’_

That was a first for him, being able to place his feelings out in the open like that. He’d never felt sure enough in someone to do it, never even felt enough for someone to warrant it.

He didn’t expect Yuuri to text back quickly, but somehow felt a little lighter from having told him. Slowly, he slid the door to his bedroom open and let himself in, turning on the torch on his phone to scan around.

Nothing incriminating. Nothing that would suggest why he was so adamant about refusing Viktor access. All that heartbreak for nothing! he lamented with a quiet laugh. He didn’t know what he expected, but certainly something more than this.

Perhaps the bookshelves, but as he scanned through them there was nothing alarming. A few too many games, maybe. Several books, the titles of which Viktor couldn’t hope to decipher. A few old magazines about skating, which Viktor took off the shelf, replacing the phone’s torch light with Yuuri’s bedside lamp.

They were kept in good condition, and ranged from Japanese, to English, to, Viktor was surprised to see, Russian. Most mentioned him or had pictures of him, which wouldn’t be entirely surprising given they were figure skating magazines. A couple of the Japanese ones had what Viktor assumed was interviews with Yuuri, what with the layout of the article and the shots of him skating. He wished he knew enough Japanese to read it, but as it was could only pick out a couple of words. Yuuri’s name, Hasetsu, and… what Viktor was fairly sure was his own name in katakana, but couldn’t be sure.

He scanned through them all, climbing into Yuuri’s bed and under the covers when he became cold. Once he was done he looked at the Russian ones again, trying to work out why Yuuri would have magazines in a language he didn’t know. He didn’t expect it would be easy to buy here, either. Unless he’d bought them whenever he was competing in Russia? He wanted to ask, to glean a little more information and insight to the man he loved, and toyed with his phone as he contemplated revealing that he’d snuck into his room.

The phone chimed with an incoming text, and when he saw it was from Yuuri he hurried to unlock it.

_‘I hope you’re asleep by now’._

Viktor almost pouted, or at least he would have if Yuuri was beside him.

_‘I’m not’._

The next message was a picture, a simple selfie of Yuuri, Yurio grumpily glaring at the camera next to him, and Viktor felt his heart trip and tumble over and over.

_‘How’s Makkachin?’_

_‘He’ll be fine’._

He sent the message as he thought about the wording for the next one. Without showing just how much he meant his words with physical actions, it was more difficult.

_‘Thank you for making me come back. I know nothing happened in the end, but’._ He paused, before sending the message as it was.

_‘I know’_ , Yuuri sent back. _‘I miss you too’._

His _heart_. It was like he was falling all over again, only instead of Yuuri wrenching his heart from his chest he was wilfully giving it up, and anything else Yuuri had a whim for. He set the phone to the side and gathered up the magazines, placing them carefully back where they were before, and curled up again in Yuuri’s bed. It smelt like him, which was hardly surprising, but that added sensation was enough to break something within him, and for the first time in years he let tears fall unimpeded, holding his phone to his chest like a lifeline.

–

The door opening was enough to jerk Viktor out of his sleep, and he sat up as Yuuri’s mother came in with a duster and froze when she saw him.

“Gomenasai, Vicchan!” she said, before thoughtfully frowning. “Ah… breakfast?” she added in accented English.

Viktor beamed at her. “Please,” he said, hoping it wasn’t too apparent that he’d cried himself to sleep.

If she was particularly surprised, after the principal shock, of seeing Viktor in her son’s room, she didn’t show it. She gave a little bow, another affectionate smile and left.

There was another message from Yuuri, sent about an hour earlier, and Viktor let himself sink back into the covers for a moment longer before reading it.

_‘My dog died just before the Grand Prix final last year. I hadn’t gone home or seen him in five years before that and always regretted it.’_

Yuuri had opened up to him again. He wished again that they were close. If he were here, Viktor would already have taken him into his arms, because as much as he shied away from physical contact with anyone else, he always leant into Viktor’s touch, as if he was addicted to it and yearned for it as much as Viktor did.

Viktor wondered how long it would take them to properly and truly confess everything that they felt for the other, wondered if it was even necessary when there was such absolute knowledge of how the other felt. Maybe it’d still be nice to hear, however. Maybe he’d confess after the Grand Prix final, unless Yuuri beat him to it.

_‘Thank you for telling me’_ , he typed, and kept the phone close to him as he headed to the inn’s rooms.

–

Yuuri’s family, as well as the Nishigori family, were crowded impatiently around the TV as the free skate started. Viktor was several meters behind, trying to allow himself some semblance of privacy as he waited for his student to start. He’d sent a couple of messages earlier when he’d visited Makkachin, trying to learn from the disastrous mistakes previously.

_‘I’m with you in spirit.’_

_‘I know. Make sure you watch me.’_

_‘Always.’_

There was a pause, as the dots that betrayed his typing appeared and disappeared.

Finally: _‘It’s all for you anyway._ ’

He’d fallen all over again, and wondered how many times it would happen before he got used to it, when the swooping feeling in his stomach would become as normal as breathing and the yearning he felt would be satisfied.

If Yuuri had been with him, he would have crushed him to his chest in an attempt to stop his trembling, would have kissed him over and over until they couldn’t imagine being any other way. But he’d not been there, and all Viktor could do was bury his head between Makkachin’s shoulder blades, who thumped his tail a few times at the attention before whining miserably.

He hardly watched the other athletes. He could only keep his eyes on Yuuri.

He finally skated to the center of the rink. The commentators said a flurry of words, in which Viktor only recognised Yuuri’s name, his own, and ‘love’. He seemed so alone on the ice, as if he wasn’t sure if he could conquer it, make it whisper his name in reverence as the blades moved over it. He didn’t look nervous, but Viktor’s heart was still in his throat.

He began what was probably the closest in competition he’d gotten to technically flawless, but Viktor couldn’t bring himself to focus at all on his technical performance. The story he was telling was too bright to look anywhere else. Viktor had never met anyone who laid his emotions so bare on the ice, and this performance showed it more than he’d ever seen it before.

Yuuri had told him to look at only him, and the words had enslaved his entire being. He could never look anywhere other than Yuuri, he would never want to look anywhere other than Yuuri.

The quadruple flip at the end was everything, everything Yuuri felt for Viktor in a single, imperfect but perfect jump. When he reached out, usually to where Viktor would be standing, his eyes were closed. Viktor pressed back, hoping the shadows would at least hide that bittersweet tears were welling up yet again.

It wouldn’t be long until Yuuri was by his side again. He wondered for a moment how Yuuri would react if he kissed him at the airport. Probably, whatever it was, it would surprise him, whether it was pulling away and smiling bashfully or returning the kiss with the type of passion he had on the ice. He hadn’t reacted strongly the first time they’d kissed, instead looking at him with so much affection Viktor thought he would melt the rink with his happiness.

He waited until the score was shown, barely breathing when Yuuri was pronounced the winner and Yurio, whose performance he could barely remember except for being mildly impressed was awarded second.

After having slipped out and slowly walked around the corridors, he found himself once again at Yuuri’s door. He sat against the wall once he’d let himself in, trying to piece together a commentary for Yuuri.

A half-familiar shape under Yuuri’s bed caught his eye, and he shuffled forwards on his knees to pull it out, gazing in shock when he saw what it was; a pile of posters.

Which probably explained why Yuuri had some magazines in Russian too, as they’d printed some exclusive ones. Viktor couldn’t help but to let free a delighted laugh. Yuuri really did have a crush on him. At least since he’d won the Junior Worlds, so for over a decade. He laid them out over the floor and wondered how many times Yuuri had looked at them and imagined competing against him or even just talking to him. And now Viktor couldn’t tear his thoughts away from Yuuri, had no desire for anyone but him.

He dove on his mobile when it rang, answering almost breathlessly when he saw it was Yuuri.

“H-how was I?”

“Beautiful. Completely… stunning,” he said, and Yuuri sighed.

“I meant technically.”

“Honestly?”

“Since when have you been anything but with my skating?”

Viktor laughed. “Honestly, I couldn’t focus on that. I’ll watch the recording again but… I could only focus on you. On the story you told. Your emotions.”

He was fairly sure Yuuri wasn’t breathing, which made two of them.

“For now, I’ll trust the judges. But I still want your opinion more than theirs.”

Viktor looked down at the posters. “I know. I’ll give it to you once I’ve recovered.”

“‘Recovered’,” Yuuri echoed, laughing giddily. “I guess that’s a good sign.”

“You liked me with long hair, didn’t you?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri was quiet from the sudden subject change.

“What?”

“Me. Long hair. Do you prefer it to the short hair?”

Viktor frowned as the silence stretched. “A-are you in my room?” Yuuri finally said, an odd, strangled tone to his voice.

Viktor smirked and considered how best to tease him. “Yes,” he said. “I told you, I miss you. I wanted to sleep in your bed,” he said, halting Yuuri’s furious string of what Viktor assumed were swear words.

Yuuri whined, and there was a dull thump as if he’d fallen facedown onto a pillow. “Well now I can’t be angry at you,” he muttered. “But… okay, I don’t see you how I did when I was a child.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wh-when I was younger, I idolised you. I think I worked so hard because I wanted so badly to face you as your equal. And that… didn’t happen. Not in competition, at least. But with coaching, when I’m with you as often as I am, I get to see everything. And… you’re not the perfect idol I envisioned when I was a child. Somehow you’re–” he broke off for a moment, and Viktor waited silently. “–you’re better, for not being perfect. I prefer the you I know, the you I’ll get to know even more, than the ghost with which I was infatuated.”

He just couldn’t go a single hour without crying, it seemed. Everything that was happening just brought everything to the surface, everything he wanted to deal with and wanted to shove down again. “You know,” he ventured carefully. “You’re the first one who ever told me that you wanted to know me as I really am, the first one to tell me that what I already was was enough.” He’d felt it at the beach, this quiet surety. It was different to the fire he felt when Yuuri was skating, but no worse or better, just another facet to savour. “I think I’m at a loss,” he continued. “I don’t know who I am when everything I’ve put on for show is stripped away.”

“Then we’ll learn it together,” Yuuri said with certainty.

“I’d like that.”


End file.
